“A shopping area with the mayor’s house in the city center. Morning. Ugly and gloomy facades of rather tall houses with tightly closed doors. There are almost no windows to the street, only a few windows on the upper floors are visible. There are benches covered with reeds leaning against the walls. The square begins to gradually fill with people. At the main gate of the mayor's house, which is located in a low battlemented wall under an acacia tree, sits the steward Hamoizit, long and thin. He hasn’t quite recovered from his hangover and is purring a song: “Drink, drink, bring, drink, drink, bring.”